


Something Sinister Creeping Up Behind Me

by minniebot



Series: Cut Cord [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Blow Jobs, Caleb is trans and hypersexual ace, Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, Demon AU, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Consent, Fantasizing, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Molly uses it/its, Other, Trans Male Character, aborted intercourse, both of them are a mess, cum kink, feelings are? had?, xeno genitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minniebot/pseuds/minniebot
Summary: It is stupid and childish to be afraid of the dark, Caleb thinks, naked and under too many covers on an 86 degree summer night. Stupid and childish, as though he has not wondered for weeks what exactly has been living in his home, watching him, invisible and shrouded in heat.As though he has not wondered exactly what it woulddoto him.





	1. Warmer, Warmer, Colder

**Author's Note:**

> dubcon tag is here because the consent could read as a little coercive re: weird sex demon pheromones! it's not, but I can really easily see how one could interpret it like that. Caleb is into it _in an in for a penny, in for a pound_ kind of way and I wanted to get that in somewhere, but I'm not certain it came across properly! Also I use traditionally female-coded words for Caleb's anatomy!
> 
> 100% inspired by that tumblr post that's like "what if the monster under your bed spanked your ass real hard instead of grabbing your ankle" ([Leo found the post for me!!!! bless](http://transyasha.tumblr.com/post/177627730039/schwerdistheword-squalos-vois-imagine-laying))
> 
> un-properly-beta'd but huge shoutout to [Leo](http://transyasha.tumblr.com) for being a big cheerleader and doing a bit of beta stuff in the beginning. Please let me know if i missed anything or messed up Molly's pronouns at any point!

_It is stupid and childish to be afraid of the dark,_ Caleb thinks, turning over for the upteenth time that night. The moon stretches a long beam through his window and across his floor before fading out behind the clouds, and again Caleb feels a deep shiver start at the base of his spine and curl up to the nape of his neck.

 

 _It is stupid and childish to be afraid of the dark,_ he repeats, bunching his comforter further into his chin. Nott isn't home tonight, not that he would go to her anyway - a grown man needing comfort from an irrational fear - no matter how understanding she would be, Caleb would be humiliated. And so, here he is, bundled up under a flat sheet and a comforter on an 86 degree summer night, his room even hotter than the rest of the house for no discernable reason.

 

It's been hotter than the rest of the house for _weeks_ now, actually. Nott never entered his room unless he gave her explicit permission or invited her in, and in all honesty Caleb had chalked the strange temperature up to all of the sunlight the room had been getting over the course of a scorching week. Then the clouds rolled back in and the heat didn't ebb away, and it seemed altogether far too late to say anything to anyone about it without feeling embarrassed about having hidden it until then.

 

And then the heat began to follow him.

 

Childish and stupid to think of it as some kind of… _thing_ , that could _follow_ him, but. Caleb would move to his study to work on something small or plan something for his courses next semester and he would find the room a hair warmer than the hallway. So he would roll his sleeves up and loose another button to reveal more of his undershirt and binder and work until the heat was distracting, and then he would move into his temperature-controlled library for a reprieve. And then, even in the soft coolness of his library, he could feel the heat of his bedroom and his study on him, lapping at his neck like a desert breeze.

 

Undoubtedly, it was worst in the library. Somehow, it felt _personal_ there in a way that didn't happen in other rooms. In the rest of his house, the heat diffused throughout the room, distracting him generally with thoughts of cold showers and sticking his head in the freezer. In his library, because of how cautious he was in keeping his books safe and at a comfortable, cool temperature, the heat was directed, obviously coming from a single spot in the room. It was also in the library that Caleb began to feel watched.

 

It was paranoia, he assumed, hypervigilance, something similar he could blame for the idea that there were eyes in the heat source following him around his abode. And yet, even while knowing it was irrational, some silly product of his own mind, it tore away at him. Caleb became afraid to take his binder off alone in his room, afraid to take showers, afraid to grind himself to completion upon his own palm even under the covers, terrified that this heat would see his face twisted in pleasure and would decide that it wanted something more from him than just his fear.

 

 _It is stupid and childish to be afraid of the dark,_ Caleb thinks, thoroughly trying to convince himself that thoughts of sex were perfectly normal to worry about when one was being... haunted. That _normal_ people would worry about begging the invisible presence in their room to give him more, to make him theirs, to fuck him until he is sobbing--

 

 _It is stupid and childish to be afraid of the dark,_ as though it has not been weeks since his fear had been replaced with a terrible exhibitionist desire that he was having a harder and harder time stamping down. Tonight, he finds himself naked and under too many covers, shivering as he feels invisible eyes rake down his bundled-up form. He is exhausted from his long day of prep work for the fall, yes, but also from a few nights in a row spent forcing himself awake from dreams that would give him away entirely to the thing that must be watching him. He is exhausted but knows that the second he falls asleep, he’ll need to wake up again so that this entity still will not watch him come. And so, in the dim, shifting light of the moon, he keeps himself awake until he can't. As is inevitable for someone as profoundly tired as he is, Caleb eventually drifts away into sleep.

  
  
_Sleep marred by the pulsing heat of an invisible body behind him, thoughts of desert breaths on his neck and burning hands pulling back on his hair, clutching at the back of his skull and revealing his throat. Scalding fingers press into the hollow of his throat and the crease where hip meets thigh, guiding him back to press against a burning body and yet he too is burning, pliant and hot and begging and no amount of slick will douse this fire that always lives in his veins but is only now being released, finally, release,_ **_finally_ ** _\--_

  
  
Caleb is jolted half-awake by a sudden, loud, sharp smack on his ass. Still groggy, still half-lost in the burning fugue of his dreams, he moans and pushes back into the air where the spank must have come from.

  
  
"Oh _really_ now?" comes from behind Caleb, an unnaturally warm hand pressing into and rubbing his bare ass and massaging up to his lower back. He half turns to look back from his new position on his stomach, sheets and blanket kicked down around his ankles during the sweltering night, and as his consciousness comes further into his grasp he barely represses a shriek.

  
  
Behind Caleb, mostly obscured in shadow, is a lithe, humanoid figure, the only real features of which he can make out are two curving ram horns along the sides of its head and two glowing red eyes. The eyes catch Caleb’s gaze and curve upwards in mirth, and the figure leans in closer to place both hands on his ass to continue the massage.

 

“ _W-was,_ ” Caleb stammers, eyes shuttering closed as he feels long nails drag along his hips before digging under his buttocks, lifting and spreading them to get a better look at what he is _sure_ must be an embarrassingly soaked cunt.

 

“Oh, darling, you'll have to be louder than that,” the creature purrs, pulling its hands away to smack him _again_.

 

This hit, however, shocks Caleb fully into his mind, and he kicks and flails away from the figure, scrambling up to his headboard. He hastily flings one arm over his nipples and the other in between his legs, but when he looks back he considers that the modesty may not have been entirely necessary. The glowing red eyes of the being are wide with shock and locked squarely onto his own face. Suddenly, as if on cue, the moon shifts back out from behind the clouds, and the figure is illuminated.

 

The creature is lean, only slightly toned, nearly skinny, with lavender skin and a short fall of darker purple hair swept to one side. It is still leaning where it had towered over Caleb, but as he stares it straightens back up to stand at the side of his bed. Caleb shifts uncomfortably under the red, unblinking stare he's still pinned under and winces, realizing that he's probably leaving a good puddle under himself right now. _I will have to change my sheets in the morning_ , he thinks, absurdly, before even more absurdly thinking, _Perhaps if this thing is unable to see my vagina it will just... forget it exists. Poof_. Those hopes are dashed when the creature’s eyes flick briefly down to his lower half and it slowly and deliberately runs its split tongue over its lower lip. His body promptly responds by soaking the hand attempting to protect his modesty.

 

The thing in front of Caleb opens its mouth, likely to make some other kind of smart comment, but before it can start Caleb snaps, “ _How the hell did you get into my home?_ ” In response, it closes its mouth and blinks.

 

“You've got my name around here somewhere,” it says, a question curling around the end of the sentence. “You wrote it. Seemed like an invitation to me.” It shrugs and Caleb notices its shoulders are _delightfully_ bare. In fact, it doesn't seem to be wearing anything at all--

 

“What are you?” he spits out before he can fall too far down that rabbit hole. This time, he sees a flicker of annoyance pass over the being’s sharp features.

 

“You're a smart boy, I'm sure you can figure it out,” it says, mouth curving again into a wicked smile. “I might even help if you beg me for it.”

 

 _How lovely it would be to not be affected by this,_ Caleb thinks, frowning even as his eyes water with sudden pleasure, overwhelmed with images, _pressed to his own bedroom floor, kneeling and gasping for this creature, pleading before his mouth is filled with cock, something slick dripping onto his chin from under its base, something that he reaches up and presses into and above him this otherworldly being_ **_keens_ ** \--

 

“Thinking about anything special, darling?” it purrs, and Caleb glimpses a thick tail that curls up over the edge of the mattress before flicking back down. If the glee in this thing’s eyes is any indication, Caleb’s gulp was audible.

 

“Demons are not _real,_ ” he grits out, clenching his hands to come back to himself. This is a mistake. One of them squelches and his eyes nearly cross in ecstacy.

 

“And yet here I am,” the _demon_ says, curling its tail on top of the bed again, drawing Caleb's gaze. _Twining between his wrists, holding his hands behind his back and slinking lower to rub along his slit and press at his ass. It shouldn't be enough, it should_ **_hurt_ ** _, but this isn't_ **_real_ ** _and the burn is so good that he could_ **_cry_ ** _\--_

 

“Who are you?” Caleb whispers, exhausted, turned on beyond comprehension. A low chuckle only draws his gaze from its tail back to its face.

 

“Mollymauk Tealeaf, at your service,” the demon says, sweeping a hand out to the side with a great flourish before pulling it back to cover its mouth coquettishly. “So to speak. Seems to me like you’d rather be at _mine_.”

 

Caleb feels himself burn bright red from his cheeks to his chest. If this is real, and it appears to be, he may as well be all for it. Likely, if this thing intended to hurt him, it would have done it weeks ago when it first had the chance.

 

“What is it that you want from me?” he asks quietly.

 

“Ah ah ah,” Mollymauk taunts, putting a knee on the mattress, “Your three free questions are up, darling, and I think it's about time we talked about _you_.”

 

Caleb’s eyes flit inadvertently to its spreading thighs and flushes even deeper at the curving purple cock he finds at the apex. He opens his mouth to speak but the words won't come, his gaze won't shift. His mouth waters as Mollymauk leans in towards him, putting pressure onto the bed, dipping the mattress outwards. His eyes flicker shut as the demon grabs his chin, thumbs at his lower lip.

 

“I'm going to need a yes or a no, sweet thing,” Mollymauk says.

 

“No verbal contracts,” Caleb says, eyes still closed, nearly losing himself anyway at the shift of Mollymauk’s thumb on his lips.

 

“No verbal contracts,” the demon repeats. “You wouldn't give me your name anyway. Such a _good_ boy.” Caleb’s hips jerk down at the praise and he opens his eyes just in time to see Mollymauk’s grin crack open, revealing two rows of glistening fangs. “Is that enough for you, sweet thing?”

 

“ _J_ -Yes, _bitte-- please,_ ” Caleb chokes out before Mollymauk pushes two fingers into his mouth and cuts him off entirely.

 

The demon tastes of heat, of dust storms and asphalt. Caleb's mind tells him that the taste means he should be parched beyond relief but in reality he is unable to stop drooling onto Mollymauk’s hand as it presses his tongue down and scrapes its claws near the back of his throat.

 

“ _Suck_ ,” it tells him and he obeys, closing his lips around its burning fingers and moving his hand from over his tits to hold its forearm steady. Caleb maps around the fingers with his tongue, feeling the steady shift from hot skin to scale and claw, marvelling as he pulls back and feels the claws blunt into something he's less afraid to have inside of him. He's terrified to open his eyes, to look at anything, not so much scared of the creature in front of him as he is scared of seeing his own desire reflected in its red gaze. Consequently, when Mollymauk’s free hand joins Caleb’s where he's cupping his cunt, he’s entirely unprepared to stifle his groan.

 

“Now that's what I like to _hear_ ,” Mollymauk says, so much closer to his ear than he thought, so much more intimate than before. He can feel its scorching breath flowing into the hollow of his throat and dripping down his collarbones and without thinking he pushes its fingers down his throat to the last knuckle and grinds his dripping cunt down into their hands.

 

Two hands on Caleb at once is overwhelming. It has been so long since he has been touched like this, too long, long enough to be embarrassing, and even longer since anyone has _used_ him this way. He whimpers when Mollymauk drags its fingers out of his throat and presses down on his tongue, _groans_ when he feels drool dripping down his jaw and onto his chest.

 

“You took my fingers so _deep,_ sweet thing,” the demon murmurs, even closer to him this time, “but I think it's time you took something _else_ of mine.”

 

Caleb feels Mollymauk’s hand leave his cunt. The mattress shifts underneath him and he finally cracks his eyes open, finally curious enough to observe. In front of him, Mollymauk is reclining, back to the footboard. Its forearms are resting on either side of it and it has one knee bent, the other spread out flat on his sheets. The way it has framed itself, he knows, _must_ be intentional, because it has made its lovely cock the centerpiece of this tableau. It’s hard, glistening just so at the tip, and Caleb forgets to close his mouth as he starts to imagine the weight of it on his tongue, the taste of its precome, how far down his throat it could reach. Just below, he notices, the demon doesn't have testicles, but it _does_ appear to have some - _oh, Archeart_ \- some kind of wet slit not unlike his own, leaking a dark spot onto the sheet underneath it.

 

“Ah, there are those beautiful baby blues,” Mollymauk laughs, sharp teeth glittering, gaze skewering Caleb like a butterfly to a board. “Come over here, sweet thing, and suck my cock like a good boy.”

 

He's never wanted anything as badly as he wants just that. The mattress dips again as he finally uncovers his cunt and shifts onto his hands and knees. He crawls towards Mollymauk, leaving small damp lines where his wet hand lands.

 

The demon hums as Caleb fills his mouth with its cock and if he didn't know any better he would call the sound almost _giddy_. He looks up through his eyelashes at it and finds it looking back down at him with an open-mouthed grin, chest rising and falling in measured beats. He wants to initiate a staring contest, to make Mollymauk learn just how he can beg with only his eyes and lips and tongue. He realizes how impossible that will be when it reaches down and tugs sharply on his hair and he can't help his whine or the way his eyes squeeze shut again.

 

“That's just right, sweet thing,” it moans, digging its blunted nails into his scalp. It's lovely but Caleb is no golden-haired youth, and this demon is no bear.

 

Caleb snorts, loudly and inelegantly, and feels his incisors press awkwardly into dickflesh. Mollymauk still moans and thrusts its hips up, shoving its cock deeper into Caleb’s throat, but the atmosphere is lost to him entirely. He's fairly sure he snorted precum out of his nose, and the lingering warmth of demon fluids in his nasal cavity is distracting at best. Still giggling awkwardly with his mouth full of warm cock, Caleb taps Mollymauk’s thigh and makes eye contact with it before slowly raising an eyebrow.

 

“Is something wrong, darling?” Mollymauk asks, taking its hand out of Caleb’s hair and pulling out of his throat, “Do you need me to take care of you for a little bit instead?” It is still grinning its sharp, dangerous-looking grin, red eyes glittering with lust, and as Caleb watches it it reaches down to the slit below its cock and spreads itself with an obscene noise.

 

“ _Ja_ \- I mean, no, _nein_ , nothing is _wrong_ ,” Caleb stammers as Mollymauk’s head tips back and it cants its hips up, brushing its wet cock against his cheek, “I am just--”

 

He has a sudden image of the demon as a literal, fuzzy bear in a silly hat, a bowler of some kind, and then he imagines its dick in a tiny version of the hat, and then he's gone again. Caleb rolls to the side and covers his face with one hand, only managing to hide half of his grin, as it takes its hand away from its leaking hole and sits up a bit. If he didn't know any better again, he would say that Mollymauk was out-and-out _pouting_ at him.

 

“ _What,_ am I suddenly not _good enough_ for you, darling?” it whines, and now Caleb is _sure_ it is pouting. Before it can continue, he clears his throat a little and peers up at it through his fingers, noting pinpricks of a bluish blush over its cheekbones.

 

“ _Nein, nein_ , it really is not you,” he says, flapping his free hand at it in a manner he hopes is placating, “I seem to have, ah, taken myself entirely out of the mood, you see.” Mollymauk flounders, making gutteral, fluid noises in what Caleb imagines must be its native language.

 

“What do you _mean?_ ” it finally manages in Basic. “ _But this always works!_ ”

 

 _That_ makes Caleb pause. He pushes himself up on one arm and takes a much more thorough look at the creature in front of him before carefully saying, “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

 

“ _I'm a sex demon, Caleb Widogast_ ,” it hisses, making Caleb flinch. Mollymauk sneers at him, snapping, “Don't look so shocked, I've been _living_ with you. Your name is practically written into these walls.”

 

“A sex demon,” Caleb repeats slowly. “But you do not have any genitals at the moment.”

 

And, sure enough, where even just minutes ago Mollymauk had sported a long, curved, purple cock and dripping wet hole, it now had a soft, featureless mound. It was smooth from its pelvis as far down as Caleb could see, like the silicone stomach of an old Barbie that could bend at the waist.

 

“ _What the hell did you do to me?”_ Mollymauk croaks while letting out a high-pitched whine. Caleb feels the pinch of a migraine start to form behind his eyes.

 

“Me?” he asks, but the demon isn't done.

 

“ _Yes, you,_ ” it growls and shrieks at the same time, the words burning like stress into his temples. “ _My junk is made out of the imagination of my partner._ ” This isn't even Caleb's first migraine this week, but that isn't making him any less irritable as it intensifies. “ _Why aren't you thinking of anything, you_ **_monster_ ** _?_ ”

 

“Okay, now that is uncalled for,” Caleb snaps. Mollymauk, he notices, is not at all listening, muttering again now in that odd gutteral language, eyes darting sightlessly back and forth, and with every passing second his headache becomes more and more awful.

 

As his vision begins to swim and dark spots start obscuring his vision, Caleb leans forward and snaps his fingers in front its face as loudly and aggressively as he can manage. In the same second that Mollymauk stops chattering and jumps to attention, his migraine dissipates entirely.

 

“Are you quite done?” Caleb grouses, rubbing his forehead free of a phantom ringing leftover from whatever weird thing Mollymauk had been doing to him.

 

“Absolutely not,” it snarls, baring every one of its teeth at him in a rictus that, as he watches, shifts into something manic and heated. “In fact, I think I'm going to stay around here until I can get something inside of you _properly_ , _Caleb Widogast._ ”

 

Caleb feels another migraine tugging at the bridge of his nose, this one free-range, grass-fed.

 

“Okay, _ja_ , well, I am going back to bed now,” he says, promptly gathering a stray puddle of loose sheets around himself and turning entirely around to lie with his head on a pillow, eyes closed. Mollymauk huffs near the direction of his feet and the mattress starts to shift under him, until it is curled around him, a big spoon resting outside of his fabric cocoon.

 

As Caleb, exhausted and out of adrenaline, dips back into sleep, his only remaining thought is: _How, precisely, the fuck, am I supposed to explain this to Nott tomorrow?_


	2. Simmer and Boil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, Caleb sometimes wears a zipper binder in this chapter! zipper binders are dangerous and although he's wearing it for a good reason (dysphoria but to avoid feeling trapped in the event of a panic attack) and being careful (only wearing it at home), having good excuses to do stupid things doesn't make the thing any less stupid. Please bind safely!!!

"Demons aren't real, Nott," Caleb says for what feels like the fiftieth time that afternoon. His errant roommate had returned around an hour prior to find both him and a visible, visibly smug Mollymauk sniping at each other over the breakfast counter. Currently he is making himself a peanut butter toast sandwich at Nott’s insistence after she correctly deduced that he had forgotten to eat that morning.

 

"I don't know about that Caleb, he really seems like he's sitting right next to me," Nott says, sitting on the breakfast counter, feet on one of the stools.

 

"That's because I actually _am_ sitting right next to you," Mollymauk says. The demon is sitting on another stool at the counter, chin in hand, elbow resting on the granite. At some point during the night, it had apparently broken into Caleb’s study and torn down a rather ancient and gaudy tapestry of Bahamut that had been adorning the wall. Now it was adorning Mollymauk, tied together like a haphazard bedsheet toga of the damned. “Can you _please_ not talk about me like I'm not here?”

 

"Sorry Mr. - uh. Leaf?” Nott asks, peering at Mollymauk rather obviously. “Has Caleb at least asked you to put some clothes on?"

 

“Mollymauk Tealeaf, sweetheart,” Molly repeats, grinning lazily at the goblin and reaching over to ruffle her hair. “But I told you, my friends call me Molly - even if they're little gremlins like you.”

 

“Goblin,” Nott corrects automatically, smacking its hand away. “And we are not **friends** ! **Whatareyougoingtodo to Caleb!** ” she yells, leaping onto the stool and pointing her rubber-band-crossbow down at Molly. Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. Before Nott can get too protective, he interrupts.

 

“I have tried telling it to put on clothes, Nott, yes, but it has just made noises and ripped tiny claw holes in the border of my _ancient artefact_ ,” Caleb explains, glaring daggers at the demon. The demon, in retaliation, sticks its oddly bisected tongue out at him; _like a_ **_child_ ** _,_ he thinks, rolling his eyes and turning back to spread more peanut butter on his toast.

 

“Isn't it a little rude to keep calling Molly ‘it’?” Nott asks after a bit of shuffling that he doesn't bother to turn around and watch. “That's not very like you, Caleb, you're usually so nice about that stuff.”

  
"Not that anyone bothered to ask me, sweetheart, but I actually do use it/its," Molly interjects.

 

"See,” Caleb says, twisting the lid back onto the peanut butter, “You already use it. Clearly I am fine.”

 

“Hey, you talked at me!” Molly says excitedly. “We’ll make a conversationalist of you yet!”

 

Caleb refuses to turn to face it as he throws the bread and peanut butter back in the pantry and takes his sandwich into his study.

 

#

 

One week.

 

Caleb doesn't exactly pride himself on being easy to get along with, which is only part of why he's stunned to realize that, one week in, he's automatically frying an extra egg and getting another mug of coffee down for Mollymauk.

 

“You know I don't need this,” Molly smirks, accepting the warm mug and dipping its nose just below the lip of it.

 

“And yet I know you will consume it anyway,” Caleb says, raising an eyebrow, and in rushes the other half of his confusion. When had he realized that? When did he accept that Mollymauk would poke and prod at him until provided with whatever Caleb was eating, and how did it happen this quickly?

 

Attachment is fickle, and Caleb is bad at it.

 

#

 

Nott took to a second roommate better than Caleb did, though that was hardly surprising. After a full day of passive-aggressive snark from him about Molly’s state of undress, she offered to let it borrow some of her clothes so they could go out and get some clothes of its own. The two of them came back hours later laden with more bags than Caleb thought was reasonable - but at least the demon wouldn't be wandering around draped in a thousand-year-old tapestry.

 

So he thought. Mollymauk, in a gesture probably contrived _entirely_ from spite, decided instead to keep the tapestry on it most of the time regardless of the state of its undress. At times, this meant that it would tie the tapestry around its neck like a child playing superhero in a blanket cape - although, usually, it would just keep it draped casually over its shoulders.

 

Caleb wanders blearily into his bedroom the on the ninth night of Molly’s visible cohabitation to find it sprawled out on his bed, legs wide. It is sitting, shirtless, facing the door, leaning back on its arms, and the great tapestry of Bahamut is wrapped sarong-like around its waist. The tapestry is so long that a good quarter of it puddles at the foot of the bed, but Molly has positioned itself so that one of its long, toned legs is visible from hip to sole below where it has tied the ends of the fabric together.

 

“Hey there, darling,” Mollymauk coos, lounging further backwards, ever so slightly hitching its visible leg up in the air. Caleb gulps and tries very hard not to look at the shaded corner of pubic mound that the movement reveals. “You wanted this back from me, didn't you?” it continues, words oozing from it like molasses, claws lifting from the comforter to pick at the edge of the tapestry. “Why don't you come and get it?”

 

As he watches, Molly slides its hand underneath the fabric and spreads its legs impossibly further apart and Caleb imagines claws parting slick flesh, dipping into wet heat, something foreign and thin curling around its wrist in pleasure and dampening the bottom of the only thing separating him from it--

 

“Oh, _Caleb,”_ Molly moans, throwing its head back and thrusting its hips dangerously close to the edge of the mattress. “What a _gift_ you've given me.”

 

Caleb feels his pulse quicken as he imagines - or actually _hears_ , he isn't sure - the quiet _thuck_ of parting flesh and he refuses to look, he won't look at where Molly’s arm is disappearing further under the tapestry or how its other hand has moved to its head and it’s slid two fingers between its panting lips, and he won't think about _walking forward to stand between Molly’s legs and ripping the tapestry off of its hips, pressing his own hand to its opening and watching as something thin and purple and wet curls around his fingers like a second tongue and Molly cries out for him and he wants to be the one wringing these sounds out of it, he wants to have his head pressed down and have that strange tendril explore his mouth as his lips and nose are shoved into Molly’s own slick hole, he wants Molly’s tail to wrap his hands behind his back and he wants to be taken from and used and not allowed to touch until he's told--_

 

“You're doing too much _thinking_ , sweet thing,” Molly says throatily, snapping Caleb back into the present. Molly’s eyes are locked to his and it is smirking at him and he _knows_ it’s impossible but he feels laid bare, like the demon heard every single one of his thoughts and is daring him to come closer and act on them. Molly holds a hand out to him, and without thinking Caleb turns around and flings his hand out to catch the doorknob.

 

“I am going to go sleep on the couch tonight,” he says, voice shaking, quiet like if he's too loud Molly will see right through him again. And before he can think too hard about what he's doing, Caleb bolts, shutting the door behind him.

 

He does as he said he would, grabbing a blanket from the hall closet and making for the large sofa in the main room of the house. He makes his usual clatters around the counters, peeling off his binder, halfheartedly folding his corduroys, stacking his hair tie and spectacles so he knows where both are before he has his coffee in the morning. The sofa is soft but no mattress, the blanket warm but no comforter, no pair of demonic arms wrapped around his waist, no purple leg hitched over his own.

 

Caleb is quiet as a mouse as he brings himself off. He bites at the collar of his shirt and reaches up to play with his tits and rubs his clit in rapid circles imagining something forcing his jaw open and filling his mouth, pictures a third hand coming down to fill his cunt but _he can't touch now, it would make too much noise and no one can know what he's doing_ . He clenches around nothing but his own imagination and only just manages to stifle a _filthy_ moan, and starts rubbing harder and faster to finish quickly before Molly decides to come out and check on him and find him like this, before it can make him stop and uncover himself and start again _,_ tell him _put on a show for me darling, I wanna see just how badly you need me to fuck you_ and at that he comes from only the finger rubbing at his clit. It's unsatisfactory but it's done and he can't risk trying again, wouldn't have a chance at a better orgasm even if he could cum more than once.

 

Despite the less-than-perfect conditions of the couch, Caleb falls asleep quickly and rests soundly. He fails completely to not dream of violet hands pressing him face-down into his mattress.

 

#

 

A few decent things have come of Molly’s visibility. Caleb is now able to freely shower, for one, and he can remove his binder whenever he desires. Most surprisingly, he's even comfortable enough to wear his lazier binders around the house again - ones that he can remove in a hurry, if he's too warm or if he gets distracted or starts having the kind of anxiety attack where clothing feels like it might trap and smother him. He's been more productive, as well. Depression sinks deep into his bones the longer he goes without proper hygiene, which he doesn't _forget_ so much as _conveniently ignore_ every time it happens.

 

So, finally, in the weeks following Mollymauk’s introduction, Caleb is able to return to planning and finalizing his curriculum for the fall. Almost all of his time is spent generally being a responsible professor, putting together resources and emailing colleagues and staring very hard at the mandatory textbook he's been required to assign to his students, hoping that it will go away. Still, despite his peers’ occasional insistence to the contrary, Caleb is only human, and finds it altogether too easy to get distracted while trying to find online resources.

 

It doesn't help that he's a tab hoarder. Try as he might to read through all of the articles he wants to and watch every video he is interested in and finish every story he starts, he finds himself often drowning in upwards of two hundred different distractions. Today, his focus has been on a story that he brought up because he had heard it had interesting interpretations of Xhorhassian war myths; but, as his luck would have it, it turned out to be _embarrassingly_ smutty.

 

He spends most of the afternoon reading it anyway.

 

At some point, almost not even of his own volition, Caleb’s hand slides down to idly rub at his slit through his pants. The story is _engaging_ , in the way that even mediocre smut is when it's been long enough, and Caleb is at least fairly certain he's alone in the house. He's not particularly dedicated to the idea of masturbating, but the story has been stoking a smouldering fire in his gut for the past few hours and he figures he should probably take care of that while he has the opportunity to do so discreetly. With that, he leans back fully in his office chair and takes his hand off of the mouse.

 

He starts slowly, careful not to go so slowly as to bring himself out of it and not so fast as to do the same. His fantasies begin as reenactments of the smut in the story - nebulous images of soft kisses and wandering hands. His hand stays over his pants, still running a finger along his damp slit, but all too soon Caleb can feel himself getting distracted. Faster, he flicks open the button on his pants and shoves his hand down to rub lightly at his hard clit.

 

He presses down along the base of it, imagining the ghost of a hand along his waist, the sharp pressure of someone aggressively squeezing his ass, and gushes the smallest bit into his underwear. Caleb gasps in shock but finds he can't get anywhere near a proper breath, and he's - he'd completely forgotten about his binder, damn him. The pressure on his chest is grounding, but the way it blocks his airway isn’t at all what he wants. He reaches up under his shirt to unzip it, other hand still playing with his clit, and fills his lungs properly when it’s open, feeling his heart beat under his breast.

 

Now freed, Caleb finds himself having a harder time than usual staying quiet. He swings one leg over the arm of his office chair, which thrusts his crotch forward and _surely_ makes obvious the quickly dampening fabric between his legs and the small bulge of his hand moving underneath. The hand still under his shirt drifts upwards, poking out of his collar to brush at his lips. He lightly wets the tips of his fingers and drags them down to his collarbone, rubbing ever faster and tighter circles into his clit all the while. After another heavy press along his base, right at the edges of where the nerves in his clit start to feed back into his labia, he gushes again. He's sure he's started to soak through his underwear completely at this point.

 

His fantasies turn rapidly from faceless caresses to something distressingly familiar as he rakes his own nails down his chest to take one of his tits in hand and wishes absently for something sharper. He imagines purple claws dragging up his stomach, pushing his shirt up to his chin, and he follows suit, baring his chest to the empty room. Caleb runs a finger down now, under his clit, and feels no resistance at all as he drags it through the mess of slick he's created and shudders, exhaling hard. When his finger moves back to his clit, almost too slippery now to stimulate it properly, he realizes it's time for something new.

 

Caleb isn't wearing a belt, and his pants aren't very tight on him even on his most daring of days, but it's still a bit of a squeeze to fit his other hand into his underwear as well. Nevertheless he manages, sighing softly as his fingers dip down to tease the edge of his hole. Finally, he feels like he can rub faster, get closer, edge forward towards a proper release. His mind dips back into fantasy, faceless again but still purple-skinned, men filling his mouth and cunt with fingers or toys or _cock--_

 

Caleb’s jaw hangs open as two of his fingers slide into his cunt with a wet noise. The edges of his hole feel comfortably stretched, filled enough to have something to clench on as he continues to play with his clit but not so wide as to burn. He angles his fingers upwards to press against the bundle of nerves hidden deep behind his clit, and moans out loud when he feels even more slick dripping down the back of his hand.

 

Without thinking, his gaze drifts to the patch of bare wall where the tapestry of Bahamut had hung, now permanently repurposed in his bed, and bites his lip, closing his eyes as he imagines Molly suddenly opening the door to his study, coming in and seeing him, binder unzipped, two fingers deep in his cunt. He grinds down into his palm and rubs at his clit faster, imagining the fire in Molly’s eyes, the way it would tug down its ridiculous leggings and only just free its beautiful cock before tearing Caleb’s pants off and stuffing him full. He imagines Molly’s teeth scraping down his chest and its tongue flicking over his nipples before it moves back to whisper in his ear, _you're so tight, Caleb_ and _how did a slut like you hide this pretty cunt from me for so long_ and _you should be louder, sweet thing, fuck yourself on me and tell me just how much you wanted this_ and he moans uncontrollably, much louder than he had wanted to be, and _comes_ . He clenches down onto his fingers and presses back up into his g-spot and it feels so _good_ , he wants to be fucked through it until he's shaking and crying and more than undone, he wants to be _used_ and _left_ and he wants _Molly_ to _wring every bit of energy from him its greedy little claws can reach._

 

But he's incapable of being that mean to himself. A minute later, reeling and still _just_ sensitive from the aftershocks, Caleb pulls his hands out of his pants, closes his legs, and stands up awkwardly from his office chair. He shucks his pants and underwear and kicks them off from around his ankles, and when he bends over to pick them up he feels the comparatively cool air of the study waft over his absolutely drenched lips. It's only at that moment that he remembers that he should probably -- yes, indeed, his chair has a massive wet spot soaking into it. It's not the first time and likely won't be the last, but he should still probably disinfect that soon. At the moment, however, that isn't important. What matters now is that Caleb is more than fully prepared for a quick shower and maybe even a nap before dinner, considering his productivity was already completely shot when he spent a number of hours on raunchy historical fantasy.

 

Caleb exits his study and pads, pantsless, down the hallway to his bedroom -- and starts _violently_ when he notices the flicker of the television in the main room and a shock of purple hair, the curve of a horn, poking over the couch. Surprisingly, Molly doesn't turn to look at him, but he thinks he can see an odd bluish tint to its ears even as he scurries the rest of the way into his room.

 

#

 

Caleb is comfortably boring. He enjoys going to bed at the same time every day, ordering the same thing at restaurants, and watching awful television with Nott. For a very long time, he was able to almost entirely resist any kind of shift in his routines, with the exceptions of the natural changes in schedule at the beginning and end of summer and winter break. Mollymauk appears to be the proverbial wrecking ball in the construction site of his mind.

 

“Okay, I think it is time we talked,” Caleb finally says one morning, scant days after his personal indiscretion in his study. Mollymauk peers at him from over the rim of its coffee mug, eyes curved upwards in mirth.

 

“Oh? Am I finally getting kicked out, Caleb?” it says, placing the mug down on the counter but keeping both palms curled around it. “I may not have any human money, but I assure you, I do know how to _pay rent_.” Caleb takes a deep breath as Molly punctuates the entendre with a slow drag of its tongue over its bottom lip.

 

“This is a little bit about that, yes,” Caleb says after a moment, clutching the handle of his own coffee mug like it might ricochet out of his hand and into the skylight, “but it is also about how I would like to continue sleeping in my bed without worrying that I am going to wake up with my dick in your mouth.”

 

Molly snorts loudly.

 

“You _can't_ tell me you're not interested, darling,” it says, moving one hand to trace a finger around the rim of the mug. Caleb flaps a hand awkwardly, dismissively, and feels his cheeks burn red.

 

“Th- that is,” he tries, burning hotter, turning redder as Molly smirks at him, “that is _wholly_ beside the point, Mollymauk.”

 

He needs to get a handle back on this, and fast. It leans forward, pressing into the counter, solid red eyes cheerful crescents set under a ridged brow and it's _gorgeous_ and in that moment Caleb is suddenly _so irritated_ that his annoyance completely overcomes his anxiety.

 

“What is making you so unwilling to talk about _consent_ , Mollymauk?” he snaps, thunking his coffee down on the counter. There's an unpleasant crack of ceramic on stone and the both of them wince slightly.

 

Caleb swears under his breath and picks the mug back up. He's still examining it for cracks when he realizes that it's been about a minute and a half and Molly still hasn't answered his question. In fact, the demon appears to not be paying him any attention at _all_. He puts the mug back down, carefully this time, to study how Molly is somehow curling up into the stool, its usually mobile tail nowhere to be seen over the counter separating the two of them, and is still looking when he thinks it makes eye contact with him and mutters something impossible for him to hear.

 

“I am sorry, I didn't catch that,” he says, only a little biting. Molly seems nervous, and he _wants_ to be sympathetic, but he is but one man and contains only so much patience.

 

“I said I've _never had to do that before_ ,” Molly snaps, jerking its head to face Caleb and baring its teeth. “I don't-- usually people just _want me_.”

 

“Ah,” Caleb says lightly. “Well then, in the meantime, assume that I do not actually want to fuck you, Mollymauk. It is not _actually_ something I am interested in, let alone with someone who has not even asked to live with me and Nott.”

 

If Caleb hears Molly hiss a furious _that's what_ **_you_ ** _think_ under its breath as he turns around to dig a new mug out of the dishwasher, then he elects to politely ignore it.

 

#

 

“I think I have changed my mind, Mollymauk,” Caleb says, hours later. “I think I _do_ want to fuck you, after all.”

 

“Should I leave?” Nott says, hunching protectively towards the plastic bank of Monopoly money. On his _life_ , Caleb can't remember why he thought it would be a good idea to play.

 

“Pay up, Mr. Caleb!” Molly crows, fanning itself with a small stack of _ill-gotten--_ no, that isn't fair, as far as he’s been able to tell the only one cheating has been Nott and her chronically sticky fingers, and he's so used to that that it hardly even registers with him anymore. Molly has been winning this game fair and square.

 

Caleb is _furious_.

 

“ _Verpi-- du bist ei--_ **_I am going to bed_** ,” he grits out, pulling his hands down his face, working with every inch of his common sense to not fling the game board into Mollymauk’s stupid, smug jaw. There's shuffling and the chirp of conversation behind him as he stands up and storms towards his room, the specifics of which he isn't even _remotely_ capable of processing.

 

Certainly, Caleb considers, thighs rubbing pleasantly, infuriatingly together, tonight would not have been nearly as much a problem if his animal brain had not kept feeding him images of submission every time Molly crossed its legs, or licked its fingers to sort through the shitty fake paper money, or grinned its pointed little grin every time it pulled some kind of bullshit _specifically,_   _he is sure, to watch him simmer in his fury, to watch his jaw clench and hands shake and there is not a bone in Caleb’s body that does not want to wipe that grin off of its face with hands and teeth_ and the most unfortunate thing of all about having a supernatural roommate is that they are always faster than him.

 

Mollymauk waits for him in front of the door to his room, leaning against the frame, tail flicking side to side, and Caleb can _taste_ how pleased it is with itself and wants to lick the feeling out of its mouth.

 

“Evening, Professor,” Molly drawls, hand lifting in the most informal wave Caleb has ever been on the receiving end of. “All in good fun tonight, you know.”

 

“Get on the bed,” Caleb snaps. He feels pulled taut and worn thin and a glance at Molly’s widening eyes only makes him regret not coming to this conclusion earlier.

 

“No roses, Professor?” it snipes, grin just this side of incredulous, hand curling up to play with the hem of its shirt. “No candles or soft music? And here I had you pegged as a rom--”

 

Caleb shoulder-checks it on his way into his room. “Get on the _bed, Mollymauk,_ ” he repeats, not looking back, ripping his shirt off and unzipping his binder so quickly he briefly worries about _rug burn_ , “before I change my mind.”

 

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Molly breathes. He hears the door click shut behind them, and then the air is still.

 

Caleb steels himself and turns around to see Molly sitting on the edge of the bed much as it had the day he had come in to find it fondling itself under his tapestry - leaning back on its arms, legs spread. It's wearing the same mocking expression it's been wearing the whole _night_ , and he wants to _destroy_ it. So, with his binder unzipped and hanging off of his shoulders, he steps forward between its legs, watches its eyes drift down to stare at his tits, grabs it roughly by the chin, shudders when its blood red gaze moves up to meet his own.

 

“On second thought,” he says, grip firm, voice only barely quivering in anger, excitement, nerves, “I think I want you on your knees for me.”

 

Molly moans then, loud and resonant, an audible line of pleasure from its chest to Caleb’s wrist. Unable to resist, he slips his thumb between its lips and tugs down. He keeps hold even as it slides off of the mattress and onto the floor, even as it closes its lips around him and leans forward, dare he say, eagerly.

 

“That's very good,” he says, shivering as Molly exhales hard at his words. “Would you like to take my pants off?”

 

Faster than he can comprehend, Caleb feels the light scratch of Molly’s talons on the skin of his hips. As the dig of the talons skims up onto his waist and blunts into the press of nails he realizes, a little deliriously, that this is the first time he's really _allowed_ Molly to touch him. Molly, meanwhile, has taken his thumb even further into its mouth while its eyes focus intently on Caleb’s little pooch of belly. Its nails dig back down to follow the trail of hair from his navel to just under the waist of his trousers and a whimper escapes him as Molly’s tongue lolls out to wet its lips around him before closing its mouth. So, before he can lose his handle on the situation _again_ , Caleb pulls his thumb away and walks around to the side of the bed. Slowly, he sits down on the edge of the mattress and positions himself to mirror the same pose that Molly had adopted time and again to try to seduce him - the same image that came back in his memory every time he played with himself, brought himself off in this bed, on the couch, in his study.

 

“Well?” he says, voice still shaking with barely contained emotion - of what kind, he's not sure. He feels one side of the binder slip down, baring half his chest in his semi-reclined position, and thinks he sees something in Mollymauk’s leggings twitch in response. This time, he thinks, he’s rather eager to find out what it is.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Mollymauk breathes, and Caleb’s legs twitch open and his hips jolt forward as it _crawls_ towards him, gaze almost palpable as it rakes down his torso.

 

Molly’s hands are brief embers on the sensitive skin of his stomach in the seconds before it pops open the button of his pants and tugs down the zipper. Caleb moans as Molly’s warm nose presses into his boxers just above his clit, lets out a small, uncontrollable plea as it shoulders forward to lift his hips off of the bed and tug down both pants and underwear in one aggressive motion. His thumb is still just wet from being inside its mouth and he drags it hard between his tits, leaving an almost instantly-dry line down his chest.

 

“ _So wet for me,_ ” he hears Molly whisper, breath fluttering over his labia. Then, he feels it breathe a colder, directed puff of air over his slick clit, and without thinking he moans, throaty and _loud_ . He's certain he's gushed _again_ , forming a dark puddle on the sheets below him - and he's proven correct when it leans forward into him, more fully this time, and flicks its tongue out to just barely brush below his clit. “ _Yes,_ that's it darling,” Molly whispers, hints of tone seeping into the cracks of its words, betraying to Caleb just how far gone it is. “I don't even have to prep you, do I? You'd just let me slide right in.”

 

 _Gods,_ _yes_ , Caleb thinks. That would be so _good_ , he's _sure_ , if Molly would _stand up and hold him down, pin his shoulders to the mattress and bite at his nipples and stuff him full, so full, let him feel the burn of stretching around its huge cock and not even letting him rest before pulling him back down onto its dick and fucking him like a doll, rolling over and holding onto his thighs and lifting him up and down, using him so wonderfully before filling him even further, stuffing him so full of warm seed that it leaks out around its cock and streams down its hips onto the mattress_ and Caleb _wants_ but this is not how he is going to let the dynamic be set. So, before Molly can move enough to grope at its bulge under its leggings, before it can get its feet properly under itself to stand, Caleb sits back up and reaches a hand down to touch its face.

 

“Ah-ah,” Caleb tuts, breathy and quiet as he ghosts the pads of his fingers along Molly’s jaw, “No, I don't think so.” There is no time to be embarrassed by how wet he is, how wrecked it has made him with so few words, such soft actions. Tonight, he will have it by his own rules. “Mouth and fingers only today, I think. Tail too, if you are good for me,” he continues, and Molly _whimpers_ , crumpling back down and tucking its face into the meat of his thigh. Caleb grins indulgently, even though he knows it cannot see, and drifts his hand up and back to hold one of its horns like a handlebar. “You're almost there, _schatz_ . Just a little higher,” he murmurs. And then he _yanks_.

 

Caleb manages to suppress a scream as Molly’s smouldering lips and nose press into the wet center of his cunt, but it's a near thing. Molly opens its mouth and tongues inelegantly at him and his tight grip on its horn must make it nearly impossible to maneuver but he still feels so good he's worried he might _die_ from it. This image, this _real_ image, where he can look down and see himself riding Molly’s face, pulling up and grinding down and fully allowing himself to fuck it enthusiastically - it is not something he had really allowed himself to imagine beforehand. Even now, it feels just the smallest bit like a dream. Molly's hands reach up and press into Caleb’s thighs, spreading him further, and in response he presses even _harder_ into its face.

 

And then he feels its tail curl around his ankle.

 

His cry is short but impossible to stifle this time as Molly’s tail pulls his leg up and to the side and the hand on his thigh keeps him spread wide. “ _Yes, Molly_ ,” he whines, feeling its tongue still circling around his hole, its chin pressing into the stream of wetness trickling towards his ass. He whines even _louder_ as one of its newly free fingers makes way for itself to actually _press_ into Caleb.

 

 _Gods_ , he's so _fucking_ wet, and he wants so _badly_ to hear Molly tell him that, to hear it tell him how good he tastes while it thrusts another finger in him _just_ before he's stretched enough to take it and to lean up and make him taste himself while it slowly pushes its cock into him and fucks him so hard he forgets his second language, but - he supposes this, the wet noises and soft moans and small whimpers for breath while its face and tongue and fingers are buried in his cunt, is what he gets for still holding its head to him.

 

He's winding up, spring-sharp and ready, and as Molly pushes a third finger into his cunt and seals its lips over his clit and _sucks_ , his free hand slaps down onto its other horn and he _tugs_ and Molly lets out a _full, open-mouthed, vibrating moan directly against his clit_ and this _shouldn’t_ be enough but it _is_ and Caleb _comes,_ hard and loud and all over Mollymauk’s pretty jaw.

 

It takes him seconds, although they briefly feel like hours, to twitch and whimper through his aftershocks and _realize_ , suddenly, that _Molly is still tonguing desperately at him_ , whimpering and making obscene slurping noises and pressing its fingers deep into his g-spot - and that the hoarse _ah, ah-hah! ahh_ s that he can hear are coming from _him_.

 

“Come here, Mollymauk,” he rasps, after instants of willing his voice back into the material plane. He releases his little-death grip on both of its horns. Molly looks up from where it is kneeling on the floor in front of him, eyes wide, jaw slack, face shining, pretty purple forelocks curling _with_ _Caleb's slick_ , and as he watches it licks its lips indulgently and juts its hips forward and _groans_. Not for the first time, Caleb laments that he knows he isn’t going to come again. His cunt clenches down violently despite that, making a valiant effort at taking Molly's fingers off at the knuckle, and the demon chuckles lightly before slowly pulling itself out of his hole with a horrible wet splorch.

 

“Are you going to make me wait for you to ask me to fuck you, Caleb?” Molly asks, bringing its drenched fingers to its mouth and smearing them around its face instead of sucking on them like Caleb was expecting. Slowly, with only a little more effort than he thought it would take, he sits up, peeling Molly's tail away from his ankle and pressing his bare labia into the cooling, sticky puddle of fabric underneath him.

 

“Such a brat,” he murmurs, placing his feet on the floor on either side of Molly’s legs and sliding just over the edge of the bed so that his hand can join Molly’s slightly drier one where it has moved to caress the hard shape straining against its leggings. “For that, I think, you'll come in those horrible leggings of yours.”

 

His back is now uncomfortably wet and a little cold with his own cum, but he actively doesn't let himself be distracted from the other moment he's in, especially now that he's noticed that Molly is _trembling_. Its fingers are shaking underneath his own and when he squeezes down on its cock through fabric and over its own hand, it lets out the most desperate whine he's ever heard.

 

“Please, Caleb, _pphah!_ Please,” it cries, moaning openly every time Caleb squeezes again, hips rutting down as he runs his thumb _hard_ along what he's assuming is the length of its cock, “ _Please_ , Caleb, I made you come so _good_ , come on, come _on, darling, wanna-- nnh, want you to wreck me back, please please please--_ ”

 

He tunes out the rest of Molly's babbling, focusing instead on the tilt of its hips towards him, the way one of its hands is still trying to pull at its cock even as Caleb begins to jack it off over its leggings and how the other hand is reaching for his tits, the curve of its squeezed-shut eyes, the shine of its filthy running mouth, still visibly wet with his orgasm. As its hips tilt higher, its words become less coherent, and Caleb thinks that it is probably close enough now for-- yes, he leans down, centimeters at most, his mouth halfway between its neck and its ear, his hair hanging loose to stick and catch in the wetness around its mouth.

 

“Come the way I want you to,” Caleb mutters into its skin, tongue just catching the edges of his own taste that linger on its jaw, “just like this for me, _ja_?”

 

He only has to stroke a few more times before Molly goes oddly still and quiet, breathing heavily, moans suppressed. He can tell, though - its cock jerks under his hand as he continues to rub, pushing it into Molly's thigh under the fabric, and he feels his palm getting wetter and a little unpleasantly sticky as it comes in its pants. He leans back, looks down, and feels a powerful and _fully_ unexpected surge of pride at the sight of the demon’s thoroughly ruined pants. And then, abruptly, he's entirely too exhausted to process why that might be.

 

Satisfied, wrung out, and a little sticky, Caleb pulls himself back up onto his bed and scoots up into the pillows just below the headboard before gesturing lazily at Mollymauk. Its face is still somehow shining with his cum and he is sure he's soaked his sheets so thoroughly that he may in fact just have to buy _new_ ones, but. For the time being, he is content solely to let this demon shed its leggings and curl into his open arms.

 

Without thinking, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to Molly’s warm, cum-sticky lips.

 

And then he is asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations!!! next chapter will be coming MUCH sooner, in part because this one kind of got away from me. whoops! also honestly hmu if you want me to elaborate on any of those kinks, i am Open to Suggestion about this


	3. Flicker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAH. TOLDJA IT'D BE OUT SOONER.

“Mmhmmm, tell me _ again _ how you are just so stuck there that you almost could not even make it to gossip night?”

 

Molly makes a noncommittal noise and rolls its shoulders as best it can, hand moving weirdly in Jester’s grasp as she paints its talons. Her tail reaches up and whaps it.

 

“If you are not going to tell me anything, then I will just tell you  _ all about _ the cute boy  _ I've _ been following,” she says threateningly, like she  _ definitely _ isn't going to tell Molly all about her conquest anyway as soon as she's dragged what she wants out of it.

 

“He's just...” Molly’s tail curls and rolls out, a nervous tic it's hardly even aware of, and click-clacks its tongue awkwardly, “a project,” it finishes lamely. Jester rolls her eyes and then her whole head just in case it didn't get the memo.

 

“Oh, right, I forgot you are all about the long game and not at all about being very pretty and good at letting other pretty people have sex with you,” she says. Molly barks a surprised laugh.

 

“He's very pretty,” it says, leaning forward over their hands, basically exactly where Jester is looking. “Jawline you could cut glass with, you know the type.” She  _ harrumphs _ and leans her face into it as its talking before licking it from cheek to eyeball,  _ harrumphs _ again when this doesn't get it to move away in disgust.

 

“Get out of my light, gross boy, unless you  _ want _ me to ruin your nails,” she grumps, poking her tongue aggressively into its cheekbone and wiggling it.

 

“Hey now, gendered language is  _ very _ uncalled for,” Molly says, moving back again anyway. “Besides,” it continues, looking down at her handiwork, “These look pretty done to me.”

 

“I was going to give you _ unicorns _ , Molly,” she whines, curling her tail around its wrist. “And sparkles. Probably also beads and candy, probably. I have to get _ better _ , you know, and also you  _ like _ when I make you look nice.”

 

“They're nice,” it says absently, bringing the untailed hand up to examine its talons more closely. Then, because it's never thought about what it says before it says anything and it's not about to start now, it continues, “Caleb might like them.”

 

“ _ Oh, _ he _ might? _ ” Jester says, leaning full over it, putting her hands on its knees and shoving her face right into its. “What else could we do here on you that  _ Cay-leb _ might like?” 

 

Her accent rolls the L in his name around her tongue like she's going to swallow it whole, and for the first time ever Molly thinks it might be feeling a little… self-conscious. If prodded, it will insist that its weird, stunned,  _ uuuhhhhh _ is actually a perfectly eloquent and appropriate response. Wonder of wonders, Jester looks like she's dropping it. 

 

“ _ Mooolllllyyyyyy,”  _ she whines instead, tail flailing behind her as she flops her entire top half over its. “You've been there a  _ month, _ tell me about all of the mind-blowing  _ sex _ you’ve been having  _ without meeee. _ ” 

 

Molly was a fool to hope it’d be getting out of the conversation entirely. It feels a new, unfamiliar sensation creep up its neck, and doesn't miss the way Jester’s fake pout morphs into a teasing grin and then slams into something terrifying. 

 

“ _ Mollymauk Tealeaf, _ ” she says, prodding it in the belly with her claws, “are you _ blushing _ ?”

 

“I haven't got my dick in him yet,” Molly says, looking anywhere but down at its good friend, who is maybe becoming less of a good friend by the second.

 

Jester squeals so loudly Molly thinks the Liasons might hear her in the Astral Divide. “Oh my  _ Traveller!! _ ” she shrieks. It wheezes as her hands slam down on its stomach, pushing both herself up and all of the air out of its lungs. “You are avoiding the question but I'm going let you because that is the  _ wildest thing I have  _ **_ever heard! Molly!!_ ** ”

 

“You said your boss’s name again instead of a different word,” Molly interjects weakly.

 

“Have you gotten _ his _ dick in _ youuu? _ ” she asks excitedly, doing a very good job of pretending it hadn’t said anything, still propping herself up on it. “And you said he was _ pret-ty _ ,” she continues, snapping the last two syllables like bubblegum, “are you going to pact with him? Are you going to be in love for _ ever _ and have lots of little purple babies that run around and poop everywhere? Is he going to make you go off and be good now? You have to tell me that last one or else it's entrapment, Moll--”

 

Molly grabs Jester’s wrists, sits up as best it can under her, and shoves a horn into her mouth mid-sentence before her words run too far away.

 

“ _ Jester _ ,” it says, and if it sounds a little desperate it's just because it doesn't like being interrogated, is all. Never mind that no other conquest has made it feel like this, especially not when it was telling  _ her _ about them. “ _ I just want to fuck him _ .”

 

Jester’s teeth grind and scrape uncomfortably on the ridges of its horn in the few seconds before it can pull them all the way out of her mouth and Molly grimaces, especially at the sound, like stone scraping on porcelain. She makes a loud, exaggerated spitting noise and grins down at it, and it can't shake this feeling that she knows something it doesn't so it avoids her eyes. 

 

“You  _ like _ him,” she says after a few moments. “Like, his brain and stuff.”

 

“Y’r damn right I like his brain,” Molly mutters, halfheartedly miming a blowjob. Honestly, it can't even pretend it's not actually embarrassed at this point.

 

“Okay,  _ duh _ , yeah  _ Mol-ly _ , but like  _ also _ all the weird squishy bits,” she says, ferris wheeling her eyes again. “I bet you even have  _ feelings _ or something!”

 

Now _ this _ is territory it can handle. “Jester, how  _ could _ you,” it says, placing a hand over its heart and miming horror. “I've never been so wounded.”

 

“Technically being wounded is a feeling too,” she says very seriously. “Technically.”

 

“Alright, you incredible vixen, tell me about this man you've been after,” Molly laughs, shoving Jester off of its lap playfully. She's probably about ten times stronger than it is but goes along with it anyway, rolling off of it to lay on her back next to it and lifting her arms straight up in the air to tick things off on her fingers.

 

“Okay,  _ well _ , his name is  _ Fjord _ , and he's really  _ handsome _ , and he's a  _ half-orc _ , and he's got, like, a  _ really _ pretty dick, and…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope my jester is okay??? i only really started getting her voice near the end of this so I'm ????
> 
> anyway GET HYPE for the next part of this, some stuff is gonna HAPPEN. for now thank you so much for your interest in this!!!! it really got away from my original plan and I'm very excited to have finished something for the first time in? well. close to ever! you're all lovely and I'm very grateful for the support!

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a pwp one-shot, please send help
> 
> find me at my tumblr [here](minerva-is-a-robot.tumblr.com) and yell at me a) about the love of my life, Caduceus Clay or b) to go write a sentence of something right then immediately


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